


What a Mistake to Make

by ChelBlue



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Lab mistakes, monster Tord, serums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 13:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12706308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelBlue/pseuds/ChelBlue
Summary: Tord fucks up in the lab which results in him becoming somewhat of a test subject.





	What a Mistake to Make

Tord's army is on the up and up, with bases hidden throughout most of Europe and thousands at his command. But with such a growing presence, and such... unwelcomed, ideals, the governments of the world were sure to begin taking action against them. Serious action - not the sissy bullshit the scandinavian countries had been doing, telling his army to back off. He couldn't risk being unprepared; he couldn't risk his army falling apart. 

The most valuable resource, in war and revolution, was men. Having greater numbers than the enemy can provide a serious advantage in most situations. Men was something that, while definitely not without, the Red Army could use more of. Thousands of only decently trained and averagely armed men could only do so much against the better funded militaries around the globe that would surely take action once the RA got too big for their comfort. 

Convincing people to throw away their futures and lie down their lives for a rebel army many saw as doomed to fail was just as hard as it may sound. It was a wonder they had as many soldiers as they did. It was easy enough during times of war or disaster, and there was always people willing to join in poorer regions, but the RA had been having trouble recruiting nonetheless. 

So what do you do when you can't get the men you need to be ready for a potential attack? You make the men you have better. It wasn't as easy as Tord would have liked, but the idea he had in mind was exciting enough for him to push aside setbacks and press onward towards progress on the project. He lost a good amount of men for the sake of what was in reality just a big experiment. God knows if all the time, money, and resources poured into it would even be worth it in the end.

Tord worked on the project more personally than he did on a lot of things in the army. He didn't have the time to personally supervise a lot, not with how big the organization was now. He remembered muttering to himself more than once about how he ought to get some help one of these days. That's beside the point. He was very involved in the experiment, spending any free time he had in the lab testing out new chemicals and concoctions for himself. Testing on others, of course. He wasn't an idiot.

The majority of the serums didn't work. Some caused an immediate shutdown of vital organs, either because the body rejected it, or some problem with the serum itself. Others caused small, nearly impossible to notice changes in the individual. Most weren't desirable. Once they managed to get a man to regrow an arm, which was most certainly progress, but not quite what they were looking for. They isolated what they wanted, tested, and repeated. With each round of that process they got closer and closer. 

Finally they got something Tord was rather positive was close to what he had envisioned. It had taken a year, probably more, of testing, of constant repeated trial and error, but he was confident he'd gotten it. He was excited to test it., so much so that he had overenthusiastically swung his arm and knocked the glass containing the serum down. The glass - fucking glass, why did they still use that shit? - cut his arm, and the serum entered his bloodstream. He swore and called for his other scientists. He was the test subject and every test subject needed to be observed.

Tord was blessed with a few moments to reflect on his mistake before the serum began to kick in and do its job. He used the time to ponder how monumentally stupid his excitement was, over something he didn’t even know would work for sure. If it did work, who’s to say if he’d be able to return to even partially human again. If it didn’t work, he could die, or suffer painfully until one of the scientists put him out of his misery. Either way, the army would surely suffer, maybe even fall apart. 

The idea of his army falling apart struck an unpleasant cord with Tord. His army, his life’s work. The thing he’d sacrificed more for than anything else. He left his friends for his army, destroyed their home. He’d spent hours upon hours of his young life toiling over battle plans and ally negotiations. His hair was greying prematurely from all the stress, but it was more than worth it if he could achieve his goal. All that work, all the long hours spent making sure every part of the army was performing its function, could go to waste because his stupid ass was more than likely fucked. It was going to be a waste. 

He took a moment to ponder the irony of the situation, if you could call it that. He’d become excited because of the possible success of something for the army. Because of that, there was a high chance the army would crumble. So, in a way, it was progress for the sake of the army that could have reversed all the work he’d done for it. Tord didn’t find it very funny.

Tord’s thoughts were rudely interrupted by a once dull pain becoming quite sharp and hard to ignore any more. He tried to locate its source, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere. It was searing and uncomfortable, like fire was running through his veins. Tord bit his lip to keep from letting out any sound to indicate it was as bad as it was. 

That pain was quickly joined by another. It started rather small, in his fingers and toes. His fingers were changing, growing bigger and more claw-like, the bones inside adjusting and moving in unnatural ways. Then his legs began to shift, his skin growing taunt as it struggled to keep up with the way his structure was changing. Tord felt his entire body was aflame. 

Tord had a high tolerance - much higher than the average person. He’d been shot and not so much have blinked, he’d been crushed by mammals four times his weight with barely a cry. He recovered wonderfully from the vast majority of wounds he’d received over his lifetime and yet he felt that this serum would be the end of him. It hurt worse than anything he’d ever experience. It felt like his body was tearing itself apart trying to change into something he quite simply was not. While his body was subjected to insurmountable pain his hears were forced to hear the sounds of cracking and popping within Tord’s body. 

Then, a new appendage began to grow. A tail, sprouting out from where his tailbone previously ended. On his head there were now small nubs of bone and his skin was changing to a deep red color. All the changes hurt immensely, almost to the point Tord was unsure he could feel at all. He had bit his lip so hard it had begun to bleed but the ache from the cut wasn’t noticeable among the other painful sensations.

Eventually, after several more minutes of searing pain and muttered curses, the pain subsided for the most part. He managed to survive the entirety of the changes induced by the serum without losing consciousness, something few other men would have been able to do, though Tord wished he had. He wished he didn’t have to feel the disgustingly uncomfortable feeling of his bones moving inside him or the feeling of something growing on his head. But he hadn’t gone unconscious, and there was no point in dwelling on it.

He was panting now, hunched over on the floor trying to recover. He had hardly a clue of what he looked like and he didn’t care to know. He just wanted the still remaining ache to go away as he wished he hadn’t cut himself. His scientists came rushing in as soon as they noticed he was entirely shifted, carrying clipboards and speaking of was to reverse the serum to get their leader back. Reverse it. He scoffed, as much as he could, anyway. It was difficult to move his mouth. He doubted he could speak properly in this form. They had hardly developed a way to create the super soldier monsters he had envisioned - there was no way they could develop a reversal to it in time for it to matter. 

They called in several soldiers who took hold of their monster-fied leader and gently lifted him. It took at least six or seven to successfully get him up. They looked so much smaller to Tord now. He thought nothing of it as they carried him off to somewhere to more than likely be tested and observed like all the other test subjects. 

While he was being carried to a cell his scientists were trying to talk to him.

“Sir, how do you feel?”

“Is it over?”

“What should we do now, sir?”

Tord tried to reply but all came out was an animalistic snarl, which had several of them flinch away. He tried again with a similar result. He noticed several of the men writing something down, likely about his apparent inability to speak. Others whispered solutions to the problem so they could communicate with their leader. They were directionless without his guidance, after all. 

They soon arrived in a room of cells, in one of which he was placed. Some of the men looked apologetic, while others did not. They closed the the door and informed him he’d be closely monitored - as were all other test subjects before him - before leaving to further discuss what a disaster this was turning out to be.

Or at least, it felt like a disaster to Tord. 

For the first time in a long while he had little control over his situation. He was a monster, something he did not choose to be, being taken care of by people he honestly couldn’t say he could trust with his life or his army. He couldn’t speak and thus couldn’t object to anything they did. He was locked in a cell from which he couldn’t escape. At the least, none of the other monster test subjects had, despite their efforts. He was trapped and at the mercy of the people who now had power over him.

He felt sick.

What would happen to the army? 

Locked in this cell, powerless to so much as order his men around, anyone could declare themselves leader. He had enough sly but trusted higher ups who he’d expect to go for such an easy power grab the moment they could. Tord would like to think his army was loyal to him and him alone, that his speeches and passion were enough to keep them by his side even in his current state, but he wasn’t naive. 

And then there was his condition. God knows how long he had left to live. He was lucky to have survived the shift at all, and he was fairly certain his luck was running out. Few of his test subjects finished the shift - their bodies simply couldn’t take it. Those who did all died in the end anyway, and while Tord had done his best to iron that out he was not gifted in the realm of biological sciences. 

At least he wouldn’t live to see his army fall apart, he mused dully to himself.


End file.
